Page 63 of Poetry On Ice
And another one.
And another.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I’ve been to the bathroom to clean up and down a glass of water, but Ant’s still flat on his back on the bed where I left him. I jiggle the keys I have in my hand, metal tinkling against metal, and say, “I’m going to move your car, silly.”
That gets his attention all right. It snaps him right out of his stupor. He sits bolt upright, eyes flashing in consternation. “A-are those my car keys?”
“Yep.” I bob my head amiably. “Can’t very well leave an Aston Martin with a personalized Totally Pucked license plate on the street outside my house, can we? That car is synonymous with you, bud.”
He’s off the bed and on his feet like a flash, looking around on the floor. “Where the hell are my pants?”
“Don’t you worry about your pants, baby. You won’t be needing them till tomorrow.” He does a clear double-take, mouth and eyes stretching into incensed circles, but before he has time to give me hell, I say, “There are fresh towels in the bathroom. Feel free to have a shower and make yourself at home. I’m ordering in—Greek food okay?” He doesn’t nod to agree, but he also doesn’t shake his head, so I take it as a yes. “We can lay out a picnic blanket over here”—I motion to the space on the floor at the end of my bed—“and I’ll bring upsome cheese and wine for us to have while we wait for dinner to arrive.”
He opens his mouth, but I take my leave before he has time to speak.
“This isn’t a date!”he booms when I get to the bottom of the stairs.
He’s living in the land of Delulu, poor thing, but he’s had a big day, so I let it go. Still, to fuck with him for having the nerve to say it again, I bring the candles my mom gave me as a housewarming present up with me once I’ve moved his car and ordered our food.
I shake out the picnic blanket and smooth it out on the floor while he looks on in something that looks like disbelief. Either that or horror.
I light the candles and turn off the bedside light, then I uncork the wine and pour him a glass. When he doesn’t move to take it as fast as I’d like, I offer to hand-feed him the cracker I’ve just topped with a thick slice of cheese. That snaps him out of it. He eases himself onto the blanket, taking care to sit as far away from me as possible. Fortunately for me, that’s not very far. The blanket is meant for two people at most. Two average-sized people. He has his back to the bed and is sitting cross-legged. He’s wearing my robe. He must have found it in the bathroom when he was in there. He has it wound tightlyaround him with a big double bow tied in his middle. It’s almost enough to offer him modesty, but not quite, given the position he’s sitting in. He looks uncomfortable and shamefaced. And fucking adorable.
“What do you think of the wine?” I ask. “Think it’s supposed to be pretty decent.”
The bottle of wine in question is a 2016 Château Angelus Hommage a Elisabeth Bouchet. It’s way more than decent, it’s an exceptional bottle of wine and very, very expensive.
He’s the one who brought it to my housewarming party. I saw him put it on my kitchen counter and slink away, hoping no one had seen him.
“It’s okay,” he manages once he’s swallowed a mouthful of cracker that didn’t look like it went down all that easily. I try not to laugh. I love fucking with him because it’s so easy to do. He glances around, looking for some way to change the subject. “Why are we eating on the floor anyway?”
“Well,” I explain, “the thing is…I don’t have a table. Or chairs.” I give him a knowing look.
He interprets it correctly.
“Oh Jesus.” He slumps back against the bed. “We’re going shopping again, aren’t we?”
“I mean, I guess I could call Alessia. She gave me her number and said I should call if I need anyth…”
“No, don’t call her,” he says quickly. He looks shocked that he said it, kind of breathless and confused.
I was wrong before. He’s not adorable. He’s more than adorable. Way more.
I move around to his side of the blanket and sit beside him, stretching my legs out in front of me and slinging an arm around his shoulders. The candles flicker in front of us, a slow dance between fire and air that sprinkles magic all over the room. Outside, the rain beats down on the windows, rattling the panes as the rest of the world drifts further and further away.
“Why not? Are you jealous?” I tease, running my nose along his earlobe as I say it. I’m hit by a heady waft of his scent. Musky and spicy. Strong, like him. It makes me space out.
“No! Uh, it’s just that you said you don’t like when things look designer-y, and, and Alessia’s a designer. All the sales assistants at places like that are. It’s pretty much a given. It’s like a job requirement…or something.”
“Or something, huh?” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his neck. His entire body stiffens and then relaxes, and he lets himself soften in my arms, hiding his face by burrowing it against the side of my neck.
“I’m not jealous,” he hisses. I can tell he’s trying to convince himself more than me, and he’s not doing a great job of either. “I’m not. But, but, don’t call her, okay?”
I take his face in my hands, bracketing it between my palms. He looks down at first, unable or unwilling to make eye contact. He parts his lips and closes them again before conceding defeat and looking at me. He looks different now. The mask he usually wears to conceal who he is has dropped. It’s slipped just enough to expose something softer. Something chocolatey and inviting. Something warm and safe. Something I want to fall into.
I kiss him lightly, brushing my lips against his and dipping my tongue into his mouth just enough to taste the wine on his lips. “Ant, I’m not seeing other people. I’m not sleeping with anyone but you. I’m not even talking to anyone else because I’m not interested in anyone but you. I deleted my profile on all the apps I was on after the first time you called me pretty.”